


and i'm the one with the lighter

by staticbees



Category: The Stanley Parable
Genre: Gen, Lots of resets, and death, oh well, so the game reset, stanley got the freedom ending but ended up dying after about two years on the outside, that too, that's real fun for everyone involved, the explosion ending, the zending comes along for the ride too, which wasn't very nice of it imo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 16:28:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11384010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staticbees/pseuds/staticbees
Summary: The resets started to blur together, after awhile. The Narrator never brought them up; Stanley figured the Narrator thought he didn’t remember them. Occasionally, he would reference something in conversation, a name Stanley had never heard, or a place he had never been to, and Stanley wondered if there had been others, other employees and other offices and other resets, over and over and over."And it's like every day is a fight for my life, to get some self control. And when you've forgotten who I am, it just feels like I'm nobody at all. I lost myself hitting the ground, I tried to scream and made no sound. I should have known it was no use to try and run."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title and part of the summary is from Again, by Crusher-P.

The resets started to blur together, after awhile. Stanley had memorized every detail of the office, each desk and mug and hallway, every word the Narrator had said. Sometimes, the office changed, a different colored wallpaper, a new room, the sound of pouring rain outside the glowing windows. He longed for those subtle changes, small details that separated one reset from the next. Stanley knew everything the Narrator would say, every possible action that could be done to trigger every possible ending. 

 

Once, he escaped with the Narrator, and spent two years on the outside. The Narrator was still there during that time, a hushed voice in the back of Stanley’s head, dictating his life as he lived it. No one else had been able to hear him. Sometimes, he had seemed to know things he shouldn’t, small facts, like the birthday of a coworker Stanley had never talked to, or what someone would say before they said it. Stanley brushed it off, and tried to ignore him, tried to focus on what was tangible and there and  _ real _ , for the first time in months. Other people, a paycheck, pouring rain, fresh snow. He didn’t realize how much he had missed while in the office until he actually experienced it for himself,  _ outside. _

 

Soon, though, the happy ending Stanley had dreamed of was brought to an abrupt close. After a few years had passed, Stanley was hit by a truck on his way home from work. After he died, everything reset again. He was back in his office, the Narrator’s last words ringing in his ears as he sat at his desk, eyes listlessly scanning the rows of colored buttons. 

 

At first, Stanley wasn’t sure the Narrator remembered the resets. He didn’t mention it, didn’t talk about the long nights when Stanley woke up in a cold sweat, dreaming of the office, about the way the Narrator made sure Stanley took care of himself on his bad days, when it was all he could do to get through the day without breaking down crying, about how terrified the Narrator had sounded when he shouted Stanley’s name, right before the truck slammed into Stanley and knocked the air out of his lungs. Before everything went dark and all he could feel was pain.

 

Stanley soon realized he was wrong after a frivolous run spent in a broom closet, the Narrator muttering about players and fungi. When he came back, after a few more resets, the closet was boarded up, despite the fact that he had never been there during that run. The Narrator never brought up the resets; Stanley figured the Narrator thought he didn’t remember them. Occasionally, the Narrator would reference something in conversation, a name Stanley had never heard, or a place he had never been to, and Stanley wondered if there had been others, other employees and other offices and other resets, over and over and over. 

 

During one reset, after completing the Freedom Ending, Stanley headed straight for the Mind Control Facility, following all of the Narrator’s instructions. He fixed his eyes on the controls, willing himself to not look down. The last time he had done that, he had almost fallen off the catwalk, and he wasn’t going to risk that again. After what felt like forever, Stanley finally reached the end of the walkway, the only barrier between him and freedom a few lines of dialogue, a choice, and a thick, steel door.

 

“...and as the cold reality of his past began to sink in, Stanley decided that this machinery would never again exert its terrible power over another human life. For he would dismantle the controls once and for all,” the Narrator said firmly. Stanley hesitated, remembering the short-lived freedom that the last ending had brought. He took a deep breath, and slammed his hand down on the ON button. Immediately, alarms began to blare, and Stanley stumbled backwards, eyes wide.

 

“Oh Stanley, you didn't just activate the controls, did you?”

 

Stanley froze at the Narrator’s words, gripping the railing of the catwalk like his life depended on it. 

 

“After being enslaved all these years you go and try to take control of the machine for yourself, is that want you wanted? Control?” the Narrator demanded. Stanley stayed where he was, eyes fixed on the giant screen looming above him. It had shifted to a burning scarlet, and the large white text read [LOADING MIND CONTROL SYSTEMS]. He had a sinking feeling that this wasn’t going to be a happy ending at all.

 

“Oh...Stanley,” the Narrator sighed. “I applaud your effort, I really do, but you need to understand; there's only so much that machine can do. You were supposed to let it go, turn the controls off, and leave. If you want to throw my story off track, you're going to have to do much better than that.”

 

The malice in the Narrator’s voice made Stanley shudder, and he squeezed his eyes shut, desperately trying to block out the glaring red lights that surrounded him. The walls felt like they were closing in on him, the music swelling and the Narrator’s voice growing colder every second that passed.

 

“I'm afraid,” the Narrator continued. “You don't have nearly the power you think you do; for example, and I believe you'll find this pertinent: Stanley suddenly realized that he had just initiated the network's emergency detonation system. In the event that this machine is activated without proper DNA identification, nuclear detonators are set to explode, eliminating the entire complex. How long until detonation, then? Hmm...let's say, um… two minutes.”

 

The lights flickered on, and a countdown clock appeared on the screen, ticking down Stanley’s seconds to live. He stood there for a moment, shocked, before the impact of the Narrator’s words hit him. He was going to die here, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. 

 

He rushed down the catwalk, towards the control center, desperately searching for some way out of the facility, some way to stop the countdown. He focused on a set of buttons, labeled with numbers ranging from one to nine. Any combination he could try might get him one step closer to freedom; or at the very least, one step closer to not dying a gruesome death.

 

“Stanley suddenly realized how small and insignificant he was compared to the Narrator. He had no power, no control. He could do nothing to stop his impending doom, but sit, and wait,” the Narrator remarked smugly, and Stanley pressed his hands to his ears to block out the Narrator’s voice.

 

“Ah, now this is making things a little more fun, isn't it, Stanley? It's your time to shine! You are the star! It's your story now; shape it to your heart's desires. Ooh, this is much better than what I had in mind! What a shame we have so little time left to enjoy it. Mere moments until the bomb goes off, but what precious moments each one of them is! More time to talk about you, about me, where we're going, what this all means… I barely know where to start!” the Narrator exclaimed, and Stanley could almost hear his smirk. He turned to glare at a security camera, eyes narrowed. 

 

“Where are they?” he demanded, doing his best to sound braver than he felt. Clearly, it wasn't working, because the Narrator's reply was mocking and smug. Stanley winced at the condescending pity in his voice.

 

“What's that? You'd like to know where your co-workers are? A moment of solace before you're obliterated?”

 

He nodded firmly.

 

“Alright. I'm in a good mood, and you're going to die anyway. I'll tell you exactly what happened to them: I erased them. I turned off the machine; I set you free.” 

 

_ Erased them. He  _ erased  _ them. _

 

The Narrator sighs. “Oh, Stanley. So gullible, willing to believe anything he hears. Anything he  _ remembers. _ All your memories from before the Parable? Those aren’t  _ real _ . You really thought you had friends, Stanley? You really thought you had a  _ wife _ ?”

 

Stanley’s breaths came shallow and quick, and he could hear his heart pounding loudly in his chest. He felt a wave of nausea wash over him, and he thought he might throw up. The Narrator was the one who had done this to him. All this time, all the hurt, pain and fear Stanley had gone through- it had all been the Narrator’s fault. How could someone be so kind and caring one moment, but so cruel and callous the next? 

 

“Of course, that was merely in this instance of the story,” the Narrator amends. “Sometimes when I tell it, I simply let you sit there in your office forever, pushing buttons endlessly and then dying alone. Other times, I let the office sink into the ground, swallowing everyone inside; or I let it burn to a crisp. I have to say this, though, this version of events has been rather amusing. Watching you try to make sense of everything and take back the control wrested away from you...it's quite rich. I almost hate to see it go! But I'm sure whatever I come up with on the next go around will be even better.”

 

Stanley’s memories from early resets were blurry, at best. He certainly didn’t remember anything from before the  _ office.  _ Had these been other employees, other helpless, innocent people pulled into a tale they didn’t ask to be apart of? Or had his memory been completely wiped between resets, like deleting a save file in a game? He shuddered, imagining what it would’ve been like in those stories, to die over and over with no escape. The thought of it terrified him. And the thought that he might’ve lived through it? That terrified him even more. 

 

“My goodness! Only 34 seconds left...but I'm enjoying this so much! You know what? To hell with it. I'm going to put some extra time on the clock; why not! These are precious additional seconds, Stanley. Time doesn't grow on trees!”

 

Stanley glanced up at the clock, eyes wide. He had less than a minute left. Less than a minute to find a way out of here, or die trying. He wasn’t going to make it, he could feel it in his bones.

 

“Oh, dear me, what's the matter, Stanley? Is is that you have no idea where you are going or what you're supposed to be doing right now? Or did you just assume when you saw that timer that something in this room is capable of turning it off?”

 

Stanley tried to ignore his pounding headache and aching legs, and focus instead on patterns, desperately trying to connect the numerous buttons, levers and combinations scattered around the room. There had to be a solution somewhere, a failsafe of some sort. Security measures were all well and good, but what if something malfunctioned? Backups were crucial, and if Stanley’s boss hadn’t had one installed, he hadn’t been nearly as smart as Stanley had taken him for.

 

“I mean, look at you, running from button to button, screen to screen, clicking on every little thing in this room! These numbered buttons! No! These colored ones! Or maybe this big, red button! Or this door! Everything! Anything! Something here will save me!”

 

Stanley felt his blood boil at the Narrator’s mocking tone, anger burning in his chest. He just wanted to  _ live.  _ Was that too much to ask? 

 

“Why would you think that, Stanley? That this video game can be beaten, won, solved? Do you have any idea what your purpose in this place is? Hahaha, heh, Stanley...you're in for quite a disappointment. But here's a spoiler for you: that timer isn't a catalyst to keep the action moving along. It's just seconds ticking away to your death. You're only still playing instead of watching a cutscene because I want to watch you for every moment that you're powerless, to see you made humble.”

 

Stanley dug his fingernails into his palms, hands clenched into tight fists. In that instant, he made a promise to himself. If The Narrator insisted on turning his life into a funny joke that lasted a few seconds and then wasn’t worth spending time on, he resolved to do everything in his power to do as much damage to the Narrator’s  _ precious  _ story as he could, while he still had the time. 

 

“This is not a challenge,” the Narrator remarked. “It's a tragedy. You wanted to control this world; that's fine. But I'm going to destroy it first, so you can't.”

 

_ What you don’t know,  _ Stanley thought to himself.  _ Is that I’ll remember. I’ll remember  _ every  _ second of this, and I’m  _ going _ to make you regret it, no matter the consequences. _

 

“Take a look at the clock, Stanley. That's 30 seconds you have left to struggle. Thirty seconds until a big boom, and then nothing. No ending here, just you being blown to pieces. Will you cling desperately to your frail life, or will you let it go peacefully?”

 

_ I’m not going to surrender to you.  _ Stanley closed his eyes, listening to the timer tick down.  _ Don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you struggle.  _ The ground began to shake, and Stanley clung onto the railing, eyes narrowed in defiance. The Narrator laughed.

 

“Another choice! Make it count. Or don't. It's all the same to me. All a part of the joke. And believe me, I will be laughing at every second of your inevitable life, from the moment we fade in until the moment I say happily ever--”

 

There was a piercing ringing noise in Stanley’s ears, and a muffled boom. He was suddenly aware of an agonizing pain, arcing up his spine and through his skull. It lasted for only a moment, before the world turned to white, and Stanley couldn't feel anything at all. 

 

The game reset before the heat from the explosion even reached him. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for the Zending! ;)

Stanley was back in his office.

 

There were no more blaring alarms, no burning red lights, no countdown timers ticking the seconds until his death; just the soft hum of computers and bright fluorescent lights, monotonous and calming. But it had still happened, Stanley was sure of it. No, he _knew_ it. He _knew_ that it had been real. He took a shaky breath, and stood up, facing his office.

 

“All of Stanley's coworkers were gone,” the Narrator noted. “What _ever_ could it mean?”

 

Stanley narrowed his eyes. _You know_ exactly _what it means._

 

On impulse, he headed towards the Zending. Every previous run, the game had reset automatically when he stayed with the Narrator in the Starry Dome, until he just stopped coming back. He knew there was a second option, to go back through the door, and walk away from the peace and tranquility the Narrator had showed him, but he had never taken that chance before. He’d never had a reason to.

 

“Look, Stanley,” the Narrator began. “I think perhaps we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot here.” Stanley turned to glare at the ceiling, feet planted on the lift. “I’m not your enemy, really, I’m not.” Stanley scoffed, raising an eyebrow skeptically. The Narrator sighed. “I realize that investing your trust in someone else can be difficult, but the fact is, the story has been about-”

 

Stanley steeled himself and jumped off the lift, landing with a thud on the catwalk below. He gripped the railing and pulled himself up, knees scraped. He grimaced, heading towards the passageway in front of him and steadfastly ignoring the Narrator.

 

“What, really?” the Narrator exclaimed, sounding offended. “I was in the middle of something, do you have _zero_ consideration for others? Are you _that_ convinced that I want something _bad_ to happen to you?”

 

Stanley nodded.

 

“Why, I don’t know how to convince you of this, but I really _do_ want to help you!”

 

He scowled. Of course the Narrator didn’t want to _help_ him. He was the one _hurting_ him in the first place.

 

The Narrator sighed. “Look, let me prove it. Let me prove that I am on your side. Give me a chance.”

 

Stanley rolled his eyes, and continued heading through the hallway, until he reached the colored doors. He took a deep breath, and walked through the red one without prompting from the Narrator.

 

“Oh, thank god, you are willing to listen to me,” the Narrator remarked, relieved. “Do you realize that I really have wanted you to be happy all this time? The problem is all these choices, the two of us always trying to get somewhere that isn't here, running and running and running just the way you're doing now. Don't you see that it's killing us, Stanley? I just... I want it to stop. I would- we would both be much happier if we just stopped. And I think, well, I think I have a solution. Here, let me show you.”

 

A door at the end of the hallway opened, and Stanley stepped inside, heading up the grated metal stairs to the top of the platform.

 

“Hmm... what do want? What are we looking for... hm?”

 

Stanley stepped onto the platform, colored lights rising above him like stars. He stood there for a moment, taking it all in.

 

“Here!” the Narrator exclaimed. “Yes! Oh, it's beautiful, isn't it? If we just stay here, right in this moment, with this place... Stanley, I think I feel... happy. I actually feel happy.”

 

Stanley hesitated a moment, eyes fixed on the drifting orbs of light. _We could be happy here. No explosions, no mind control, no office. But it’ll still restart, eventually. And we’ll be right back where we started._

 

He paused, took a deep breath, and headed back down the stairs, and through the door.

 

“No, wait…” the Narrator began. “Where are you going?”

 

He stared up at the stairs, eyes shining with determination. _This ends here_.

 

“Oh, no! Stay away from those stairs! If you hurt yourself, if you die, the game will reset! We'll lose all of this!”

 

 _I don’t have anything to lose,_ he thought bitterly. _I’ve already lost enough because of_ you.

 

He began to climb the stairs, gripping the railing like his life depended on it.

 

“Please, no, Stanley, let me stay here! Don't take this from me!”

 

 _You took_ everything _from me. You don’t deserve this._

 

“Please, Stanley, think about what you're doing!”

 

He stood at the top of the stairs, staring downwards. _If I die, it’ll just restart._ He hesitated a moment, before jumping off.

 

“No!” the Narrator cried, and Stanley felt the wind whistling past him, as he hurtled down towards the floor. He hit it with a thud, scraped palms stinging as he stood up.

 

“Oh... thank god. You lived. You had me worried there for a moment. Now, can we please get back to the other room?”

 

He shook his head. His body ached from the fall, and he felt a twinge of pity for the Narrator, desperate for happiness, but he pushed it aside. He had made a promise, and he was going to follow through with it. He began to head back up the stairs, eyes narrowed.

 

“No! No, no! What are you doing?! Stanley, please I'm asking you not to take this away from me. Do you just not believe me? What can I say to convince you?”

 

He almost froze at the Narrator’s pleading tone, begging him to stop, to listen, but kept climbing upwards, jaw tightened with resolve. He jumped again, landing on his feet this time. The impact sent a jolt of pain through him, and he winced as he headed back up the stairs, legs sore from climbing.

 

The third time he jumped, it didn’t hurt nearly as much.

 

“My god, is this really how much you dislike my game? That you'll throw yourself from this platform over and over to be rid of it? You are literally willing to kill yourself to keep me from being happy? Am I reading the situation correctly?”

 

Stanley simply nodded, forcing himself to stand back up and continue climbing.

 

No matter how much the Narrator screamed that he _cared_ , he _did_ , it didn’t matter. The Narrator had hurt Stanley, had taken _pleasure_ in hurting him, and there were no words he could say that would make Stanley forgive him for _that._

 

“Stanley, please, why are you doing this? Tell me! I want to know, I really, truly do.”

 

Stanley reached the top of the stairs, and squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath. 'Because I remember,' he signs. 'Everything.'

 

 _I remember how you hurt me,_ he doesn’t add. _I remember how you laughed as I was dying, how you tricked me into believing I could save them all, how you abandoned me when I felt the most alone I’ve ever felt in my life._ He doesn’t have to add it. The Narrator already knows.

 

There was a brief silence, and Stanley jumped.

 

He didn’t get back up.


End file.
